


And what will you do today, I wonder, to my heart?

by followingthelightoftheluna



Category: Triple Frontier (2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Mentions of Alcohol Dependency, Mentions of alcoholism, Mentions of depression and declining mental health, Pining, Reader-Insert, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers, a window works both ways, domestic comforts, during corona and quarantine, eventual healing and growth, eventual mention of past drug use and drug addiction, let's see where this ends up so come along for the ride!, no y/n, yearning from afar
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:34:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26337262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/followingthelightoftheluna/pseuds/followingthelightoftheluna
Summary: After spending months in quarantine with your parents, your mental health is at an all-time low. You make the decision to move out of town and into an apartment of your very own. And it's beautiful; spacious kitchen, cream-colored walls, and a gorgeous, wide wall of windows looking out onto the street. In fact, you can almost see into the apartment directly across from yours, with its own tall, beautiful windows. And through those windows, you sometimes catch glimpses of a man. Day by day, your connection with the man, whom you eventually find out is Francisco Morales, blossoms, but still, you watch through the window. And eventually, you come to realize that you're being seen in more ways than one ...
Relationships: Fem!Reader - Relationship, Francisco "Catfish" Morales & Reader, Francisco "Catfish" Morales/Reader, Francisco "Catfish" Morales/You
Comments: 33
Kudos: 55





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Welcome! This is my first fic EVER and consequently the first fic that I have EVER posted! I am thrilled and excited! This is the Prequel to the story, with more to come later. The title comes from a line in a poem by Mary Oliver.

You move into your apartment on a Thursday. Hauling box after box up the stairs, you curse yourself for renting a fourth-floor walk-up. 

“At least I’ll get an amazing ass from climbing all these stairs”, you grumble to yourself as you reach your door for what felt like the thousandth time that day. 

Thankfully, this was your last trip. You close and lock the door, toss your mask onto the nearest surface, and collapse on the ground. Utterly exhausted and drenched in sweat, you spend a few minutes breathing in the quiet. When your heart stops racing, a wave of calm settles into you as it finally dawns on you. You’re in your own apartment, a space that’s entirely yours and of your making, for what feels like the first time in forever.

When the height of the pandemic hit, your parents begged you to move back home and you begrudgingly acquiesced. The first few days were actually nice, enjoyable even, as you all spent time baking, playing games together, and trying to find the positive side in the unprecedented and somewhat unbelievable circumstances you were all suddenly thrust into. But days turned into weeks, and weeks dragged into months. And the lighthearted fun you all had revelled in coagulated into something thick and suffocating. You felt anxious all of the time, exhausted and frustrated. You knew quarantining was the right thing to do, you deeply knew it, but life at home with your family was slowly eroding your spirit. As the months added up and your mental health deteriorated to the lowest point of your life, you made the decision to move into your own apartment in a new city. You assured your parents you could quarantine there perfectly fine and you would be safe and responsible. Even your parents saw how you changed in those months. Wilting day by day until your once vibrant smile and personality disappeared, leaving a shell of yourself in its wake. So this move was desperately needed. 

After weeks of planning, waiting, packing, and stressing over it all: you were here. In your own home, alone at last. You sit in the quiet for a few moments more, looking around your little space and thinking about how to decorate it. Your eyes eventually move towards the windows facing opposite you. The most beautiful part of the whole apartment are the three large windows, almost floor to ceiling. They look out onto the street and onto the apartment building across the way. You are so close to your neighbors you can practically see into the apartments next door, as they all have their own sets of wide windows. In fact, you can see a light on the apartment directly across from you, also on the fourth floor. Their curtains are drawn for the evening hour. A shadow figure walks across the room and out of sight, only catching a brief glimpse of the person. You turn your focus back to your surroundings and softly smile. A light breeze flows in, gently ruffling your hair. You close your eyes and take a deep breath in. You are home.


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new day not only brings more unpacking but an unexpected run-in with someone new ...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A sincere thank you to everyone who read the prologue! I couldn't keep you (or myself) waiting, so here is Chapter 1.

The next morning you practically jump out of bed with excitement. Today’s the day you get to start unpacking and filling your space with you. After throwing on comfy clothes that you can move in, you head to the kitchen to make coffee. As you wait for your wake up call to brew, you lean against the wall and look out of the windows. Bright sunshine streams through, illuminating the clear, blue sky. The breeze gently carries in the cool, refreshing air. It’s a beautiful morning.

You notice that the figure you glimpsed yesterday is also up and enjoying the early morning. In the light you get a better look at him, firstly seeing that it is a -him- you’re looking at. Languidly reposed in a chair by the window, book in hand, he reads in the morning sun. Brown hair, soft and tufted from sleep. A hand occasionally scratches at his whiskered face and his dark mustache. Your captivated eyes follow his hand, oh his hand, as they gently brush over his strong and beautiful nose. 

A hand reaches down to flip a page then goes back to resting on his cheek to hold his head up. He sips something out of a mug, places the cup down, and goes back to reading. You watch him, transfixed by his calm and languid movements. A warmth spreads in your chest, familiar and unknown, watching this stranger take solace in their early morning rituals. Quietly observing the man, you become entranced at the delicate flow of his routine. Cup up, sip, cup down, turn a page, hand through hair, repeat. The hypnotic rhythm of his motions draws you further into the soft, lush lull of the morning. You feel your body relax, breath deepening as you continue to watch from afar. Cup up, sip, cup down, turn the page...

A sudden sputtering sound followed by the scent of freshly brewed coffee snaps you out of your reverie. Stepping back into the kitchen, you prepare your coffee just the way you like it before bringing the cup to your nose and taking a deep breath. That little exhalation shakes loose the last bits of sleep lingering in your limbs and, as you take that first sip, you feel awake and alive and at peace. Looking back out the window, the man is still in the same position that you left him in. As you stand against the back wall, you drink your coffee and he reads his book, both of you indulging in your morning routines together, basking in the quiet of the dawn and the unspoken companionship that the early morning brings.

“OK”, you say softly to yourself as you set the now empty cup in the sink, “let’s do this!” Hours blur together as you clean, unpack, move, set up, move again, and adjust until the large, empty space begins to resemble a living room. Wiping your forehead with the back of your hand, you glance at your watch and catch the time. That early morning sun has deepened into the late afternoon and your stomach grumbles as if right on cue. Throwing a quick glance out the window hoping to catch a peek of your silent companion, you feel a brief and unexpected pang of disappointment when your eyes reach an empty apartment. 

Deciding to head out, you throw on a mask, grab your bag, and bound down the stairs. With a brief pause spent outside your building to soak in the beautiful day, you begin the walk to the cafe at the end of your street. A little sandwich, a coffee, and maybe a pastry is just what’s needed to refuel and refresh for more unpacking. You’re so lost in your thoughts about lunch that you don’t see the person rounding the corner, who also isn’t paying attention and crashes right into you.

“Oh! Oh my god, I’m so sorry! I wasn’t paying attention. Are you..?” you breathlessly trail off as you look up at the man you bumped into when it hits you. It’s him. The man from across the street. The man in the window. Staring into his eyes, you’re immediately stunned by how beautiful he is up close. Perceptive brown eyes stare back at you, capturing your gaze attentively. You can’t see the lower half of his face because of the mask, but that’s OK considering what is now revealed to you. His strong neck flows into solid shoulders and strong arms. His hands look rough from use, but also oh so soft. You almost wish you had fallen to the ground, just so you’d have an excuse to touch them. 

“Are you alright?” he asks, mistaking your silence for something else. 

“Oh. Oh, yes I’m fine. Are you OK? I’m so sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.” 

“It’s OK”, he waves your concern away still looking into your eyes, “I wasn’t either. You sure you're alright? You seem a little dazed.” His piercing eyes scan you up and down, checking your body for any physical injuries while you continue to stand there dumbly in front of him. Your brain starts shouting at you: You have to say something! He’s talking to you! A gentle shake of your head centers yourself and brings you back to Earth. The man in the window is talking to me. The beautiful man from the window. 

“Sorry. Yes, I’m OK. Sorry, I guess I’m just out of it today”, you chuckle lightly to break the tension. He physically relaxes once you confirm you’re alright and stands up straighter. 

“Well”, he pauses for a moment readjusting his hair under his ball cap, “if you’re sure you’re OK…”

“I am, I promise,” you interject.

“OK. That’s good. Again, I apologize.” He’s looking right at you, warm eyes apologetic. 

“I’m sorry, too. I’ll be more careful around corners next time.” You’re surprised at how light and almost flirtatious your tone is. You don’t know this man, but somehow you feel you do, in a secret and small way.

He barks a quick laugh out at your remark. “You do that”, he says smiling, “have a nice day.”

“You too” you respond softly. The man walks down the street you just came from, heading back to his apartment building if you had to guess. Indulging in a few moments of watching his retreating back, you start to wonder about this mystery man. The handsome mystery neighbor. 

Your thoughts continued to drift to the man for the rest of the day. During the natural lulls of unpacking, your thoughts would drift to him and inevitably so would your eyes. Every so often you’d see him; walking through the main room and out of sight, sitting in the same chair by the window reading a book, pacing around while talking animatedly to someone on the phone.

The soft light of the evening hour paints your home in shades of liquid gold and honey. Sitting in your own chair by the window, a nagging feeling that you’ve been doing something wrong creeps into your mind. It wasn’t spying, no, but gentle voyeurism that allowed you to glimpse into the world of a stranger and see parts of yourself in them. To connect with someone so physically close to you, but somehow leagues away. He’s your neighbor, someone in your community. He sees the same trees on your street, the same cracks in the sidewalk. There’s so much the two of you already share without knowing the other's name. How can such an intimate connection be relegated to the part of the brain that harbors shame? Being curious about the life of another isn’t unusual or harmful. You steal glimpses of this man’s life, your imagination filling in the rest. You … wonder. Thoughts drifting in and out from him, casually, with lazy ease and no urgency at all. When he’s there, he’s there. When he’s not, he rests gently in the back of your mind, waiting for a moment of quiet or a pause in your day to fill that empty space. 

“I wonder what he’s like”, the whispered confession hangs in the air. It’s one thing to see from the outside, it’s entirely another to know from within. But for now, you’re content with this removed yet intimate relationship. Who else gets to see this side of him? Who else shares these moments with him? Little, fleeting moments. You wonder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First and foremost, I need to thank @tiffdawg from the bottom of my heart for all of the encouragement and feedback she's given for this fic. She not only so generously imparted valuable wisdom to a baby writer like me but took time out of her busy schedule to read and give incredibly helpful feedback. Please RUN to read her Prof. AU Javier Pena fic "Curriculum Vitae", it will change your life. 
> 
> As this is my first fic, I would appreciate any comments, feedback, criticism, or concerns that you have! While I have written out the first few chapters, this fic is a work in progress. I hope to post fairly regularly. 
> 
> I cannot express how invigorating it feels just to write, almost self-indulgent! I am SO excited to be posting my writing in a public place. And yes, I have drawn a lot from my own personal experience with quarantine and life in general for this fic. Sending everyone love and strength during this pandemic. I know everyone is struggling in their own way, so know you aren't alone and that I am sending all my love and prayers to healthcare workers, essential workers, and everyone out there just doing their best. In my previous apartment, I could see into the highrise across the street from me. The entire outside of the building was made up of windows, so everyone could take a peek into the lives of these strangers. Making up stories for the people I would see became a fun little game. I even had "regulars" and they became my companions as I tried to find stability and a sense of home in a new and unfamiliar city. That experience and my current apartment situation are -huge- sources of inspiration for this story. I hope you enjoyed the chapter and had a lovely Monday. :)


	3. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today was filled with gray rain clouds and wind. My evening was spent making homemade mozzarella sticks while listening to jazz and enjoying the new incense I bought. So, absolute and utter perfection. I've been working on this chapter for a while and after doing a final readthrough I am very pleased with the result. I hope you are as well.

Days of unpacking were finally starting to take their toll. Somehow the pile of boxes that needed to be unpacked didn’t seem to get any smaller. Even though it felt like an eternity of rifling through an endless sea of newspaper, bubble wrap, and cardboard. After losing track of your box cutter for the thousandth time that day, all of the pent up frustration bubbles to the surface and that’s when you know it’s time for a break. Huffing onto the floor, you run your hands over your sweat covered face and focus on not losing your mind over something as silly as packing materials. The sudden sound of shattering glass jolts you out of your pity party. Your ears perk up to locate the source and find it came from the apartment across the street. 

The man’s apartment. 

The same man who’s briskly moving around the room, looking for something. You watch as he bends down, and comes back up with a handful of broken glass. Seems like I’m not the only one having a rough day, you think to yourself. 

Surveying your own room, all of the debris from unpacking seems to mock you. This feels like the perfect time to get out and explore the neighborhood a little more. Taking a walk down the lush tree-lined street and wandering around is the perfect antidote to this funk currently clouding over you. Outside, the crisp summer air gently rustles the leaves, their soft song music to your ears. Overhead, the clear blue sky is dotted with puffy, white clouds. Other neighbors are also out and about; some are sitting on their porches enjoying the beautiful day, others are walking their high-spirited dogs down the block. Taking in the scenes of life around spreads a feeling of warmth through your bones. Even in the midst of a pandemic, people are still enjoying the little moments that often get taken for granted. Forgoing headphones this time, you take off down the street without any particular direction in mind. But that instantly changes when the sound of waves caress your ears. You knew you lived close to the nearby lake but didn’t realize you lived that close. Suddenly, a new urgent goal pops into your mind: find the water. 

Continuing down the street, you keep your ears perked for the sound of the waves. Your tree-lined street slowly gives way to flowing beach grass. The sidewalk starts to soften, gradually returning back to the soft earth it came from. Your shoes thud on the pavement, but soon start to sink into the sand as you follow the hypnotic sound. A small entrance framed by bushes, trees, and dunes beckons you forward. Entranced, you step under the natural archway and emerge. What greets you is one of the most beautiful sights you’ve ever seen. The crystal clear lake spans out for miles, looking almost as if it’s an endless sea. And the sky! That endless blue sky above you takes your breath away as it kisses the edge of the water. The waves you heard are crashing against the sandy shore. Taking in the scene around you, you see a few families scattered along the beach, some people walking dogs, and others sitting alone enjoying this little hidden oasis. Immediately drawn to the water, you head toward the shore and slip off your shoes. Running straight into the surf, the cool water crests your calves and instantly washes away all stress you had been feeling. Not just the stress of today, but of yesterday. Reaching down, you cup some of the water and splash it on your arms to cool off some more. Swiping a wet hand across your hot face, a sigh of relief escapes you the instant the refreshing water touches your skin. 

After a few more moments in the surf, you decide to sit on the shore, search for shells, and play in the sand. Feeling an almost childlike lightness, one that you haven’t felt in a long time, you lose track of time walking up and down the shore hunting for sea glass and rocks that speak to you. Realizing that your hands are full you go to sit down in the sand and enjoy this moment a little more. Looking around, you notice that most of the people are still hanging around, but you’re a little farther away from them, seeking out a more private section of the beach. Lying back, you close your eyes and let the sun wash over you. 

Muted orange and gold flicker behind your eyelids as your muscles relax one by one. You take in a deep breath, hold it for a moment, and sink further into the warm sand as you exhale. Distantly, the sound of panting reaches your ears, but you’re so relaxed and sun-tired that you only faintly register it in the back of your mind. The warmth of the sun warms your skin. You hear the waves gently lapping against the shore, the soft whisper of the wind, and … that panting noise. It’s getting closer now and grows louder and louder until it’s practically on top of you. Out of nowhere a wet tongue suddenly licks your arm and startles you out of your rest, but you relax a little upon seeing a sweet looking French bulldog. The dog’s face is directly next to yours, staring at you with big, bright, joyful eyes. It’s panting from excitement at having found a new friend and nudges your arm with its nose. You laugh out loud, sit up, and start petting the sweet dog, instantly sensing what it was after all along. The dog excitedly rejoices in having it’s desire being met and bounces energetically around you, wanting to play. You adjust onto your knees to better pet the sweet dog, when you hear a surprisingly familiar voice calling out for who you suspected was your new friend.

“Goose! GOOSE! Stay away from her!”

Both your ears and Goose’s perk up at the sound, recognizing the man’s familiar voice and distant figure. A figure who is currently rushing over to where the two of you sit. 

“There’s no way”, you playfully mutter to yourself as you smile at the dog. “Goose, I presume? It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Jokingly, you smile and hold out your hand as if to shake and to your utter surprise Goose places her paw right into yours. A bright peal of laughter bursts out of you in delight. It’s at this moment that the man finally catches up to the two of you, a little out of breath as he hurries over to pull Goose away.

“I’m so sorry, I went to tie my shoe and she just bolted. She’s not dangerous, I promise. Just a little eager to play.” Goose resists her owner’s hands, squirming away and coming back to your side. The man lets out an exasperated sigh and puts his hands on his hips in defeat. 

“I can tell. She’s such a sweetheart.” The man looks at the two of you curiously, Goose still nuzzling into your body as you gently pet her.

“Her name is Goose by the way.”

“Oh, I know”, you say gently while gazing at Goose, “we’ve already been acquainted. She has excellent manners.” Goose looks up at you with her big, loving eyes before giving a little shake and running back over to the man, who then crouches down to grab Goose’s leash, clip it on, and pet her lovingly. After spending a few private moments with his dog, the man glances back up at you, then back down at Goose, then quickly whips his head up again as recognition sets in.

“Oh! It’s you! From earlier.” He pauses “From when-”

“From when I ran into you on the street, yes. That’s me!” You say this with a laugh and smile, too energized by this chance meeting to be embarrassed or nervous. He stares back at you smiling while continuing to pet Goose. Looking back down at his dog, his face briefly clouds over, as if he’s contemplating on what his next move should be. Still crouching, he adjusts his footing before sitting onto the sand, allowing Goose to playfully run into his lap, but still far enough from you to maintain a safe distance. 

He looks directly at you, catching your eyes fully with his gentle, yet intense gaze. He makes a decision as he takes a breath. 

“My name’s Frankie. Francisco actually, but everyone calls me Frankie.” He speaks softly, almost shyly.

“Frankie”, you try out the name for yourself and instantly love how it tastes on your tongue. It’s perfect. It’s his name. For better or for worse, you know his name. After a beat of silence you then offer him yours, prompting his shoulders to relax and a smile to grace his features. “It’s nice to meet you again. Without any unexpected collisions this time.”

“It is quite the coincidence running into you two days in a row”, you murmur playfully. 

“It’s not every day you run into the same person twice. Especially here. Do you live in the neighborhood?” You smile slightly at his question as he continues. “Not to intrude or anything, but this is a spot only people in the neighborhood really know about.” 

“Actually, I just moved in down the street a few days ago. I went for a walk to take a break from unpacking and found this place by accident. I can’t believe all this beauty is tucked away back here.” Taking a moment to gaze out over the water, you momentarily bask in the beauty surrounding you. Frankie’s also taking in the beauty around him, gazing curiously at you. You’re so enraptured by the peaceful scene that you don’t notice his gaze. 

The two of you sit in silence for a few moments to take in your surroundings. Even Goose settles down, sensing the feeling of peace and contentment washing over everyone. 

Frankie’s curiosity about you makes him break the silence first. Seeing you again after a chance meeting? He wasn’t going to let you slip away this time, especially now that he knows your name. 

“What brings you to town?”

You hum in contemplation at his question. “A few reasons,” you answer coyly. You don’t want to unload your emotional weight onto this complete stranger, but Frankie sits patiently as he waits for you to elaborate. He wants to know and isn’t going to let you off the hook that easily. A few moments of silence rest neatly in between the two of you before you continue.

“When the pandemic hit I moved back in with my parents. It was fine for a while and then it wasn’t. I felt like I was being observed all the time, like there was never any privacy. And being back with my parents,” you let out a deep sigh, searching for the right words, “I’m grateful for their love and support. Especially during a time like this. But being home with them, I felt like I wasn’t myself. Every day I was pretending to be me, or at least the version they thought they knew and liked. I began to realize that I was losing myself and losing my happiness along with it.”

Pausing, you look up and see Frankie looking intensely back at you. He’s listening intently, with a glimmer of recognition in his eyes. You feel like he isn’t judging you and maybe actually knows where you’re coming from. His eyes are warm and full of understanding, and it’s that gaze that gives you the courage to continue on.

“One day it just … clicked. All of the feelings I was suppressing to make it through the day came to the surface. And I was forced to confront how unhappy I was. And how guilty I felt at being unhappy. I knew then I had to leave, to find my own home and create my own space so I could start to repair and rebuild.” 

You take a breath and continue softly, almost as if it’s a confession. “So I could heal. And in the few days I’ve been living here I already feel different. Lighter. And now having this place right in my backyard? I know I’m going to be OK.” And with this, a soft smile settles over your face. Admitting your internal worries out loud, and to a stranger at that, felt like you dislodged the last bits of debris cluttering your mind. You’re now in a place ready for a new beginning. And maybe this new beginning can include the man and his dog sitting across from you. Maybe … maybe this new beginning has a place for Frankie in it along the way. Your eyes crinkle at the thought, laughing softly at your wishful and romantic thinking. All the while Frankie’s intense gaze hasn’t left you since you started talking. He couldn’t believe that you trusted him with your feelings, especially barely knowing him. Quarantine hadn’t been too kind to Frankie either, so he felt a quiet sense of relief knowing that he wasn’t alone. 

“I bet you weren’t expecting that as an answer, were you?” You laugh softly, hoping to break the tension that you thought you created with Frankie. 

“No, I wasn’t.” He pauses. “People don’t talk that way anymore. Everyone just says whatever and never what they actually mean. They talk a lot without saying anything.”

Both of you sit and let the silence settle in around you. It’s not uncomfortable or awkward, but gentle. The sound of the waves and Goose’s soft breathing fill the air around you with life, bringing you both back from your internal caves into the light. 

Frankie looks back at you. “I understand what you mean. I felt that way too. Not with my parents, but with my brothers. You go so long being this one version of yourself that you don’t let yourself think there’s a possibility you could be something else. Something more.”

“Did you live with them during quarantine?”

“No. I was on my own for that, but we’ve always spent so much time together.” He pauses a moment. “They aren’t my brothers by blood,” he clarifies, “though it feels that way. We all served together. Special Forces. When you experience something like that with a group, it’s impossible to not be bonded for life after it. They are my brothers, though. I’d do anything for them.” The last sentence comes out of Frankie softly, and he’s surprised he made such an admission of truth. Spending all of that time alone, constantly reminded of the tensions of the outside world while simultaneously trying to manage the tensions within his own head and heart resulted in the man being desperately starved for conversation. Just to simply escape from the voices in his own head repeating the same desires and fears over and over. Time alone had made him bold. Frankly, he didn’t know when he’d have another chance to connect with another person, especially a person as beautiful and bright as you, so he was going to keep the conversation going for as long as he could. You radiated a certain calmness that Frankie had been chasing for months and he wasn’t letting you go without getting a taste. 

Little does Frankie know that you’re feeling just as starved for companionship as he is. The man from the window is opening up in front of you and it's letting in the sunlight and fresh air. Your eyes never leave his face, captivated by his words. 

“I certainly didn’t enjoy all of quarantine,” he ruefully chuckles, “but it was nice to have time to see who I am when it’s just me. See what parts are really me, you know? Going from the military, to civilian life, to …” he pauses here. There’s an obvious and somewhat tense moment of silence as Frankie grapples with what to say. From the way he’s fidgeting with his hands to the furrow in his brow, you can tell something happened in his past that is still causing him grief. When he continues on ignoring the brief silence, you tactfully do as well. 

“That’s how I met this little lady. After a few months of being at home, I finally broke down and went out to a shelter. I’ve always wanted a dog, but I never had the time.” He chuckles. “Well, suddenly I had all the time in the world. So I went just to look and there she was. They said she was found in an alley somewhere, all alone. She looked at me with those big eyes of hers and I was a goner. And the rest is history.” Frankie and Goose gaze at each other as if feeling the pull between them. It’s obvious, the love between them. It’s beautiful that they found each other at just the right time. 

“She’s such a sweetheart! One look from those eyes? Of course you were a goner!” Goose barks as if to agree with you, causing both you and Frankie to laugh at the sweet little pup. 

“I bet she loves living so close to the lake. Getting to take walks all the time, especially with all the kids out here. The most perfect playtime place that she could ever want.”

“Oh, she loves it. And of course everyone just adores her. She’s just the cutest.”

Her owner’s not too bad himself either, you think to yourself. 

“Gives me an excuse to get out of the apartment, too. Walk on the beach, explore the neighborhood, and”, Frankie smiles playfully, “even run into old friends.” 

You bite your lip to quell the smile blooming on your face, equally pleased and slightly embarrassed by his playful teasing. Catching his gaze, you allow yourself a moment to look into his eyes and instantly regret it. His eyes. He has the most beautiful brown eyes. Rich and deep as the earth. You looked into his eyes and realized that there was no hope for salvation; you were a goner. 

“I guess all this time alone had some positives, didn’t it?” 

“I guess it did.” Goose has been cuddling in Frankie’s lap while you were talking and starts to wiggle around. The sight is so endearing and lovely that warmth swells all over your body. Suddenly, your phone vibrates in your pocket. It’s an email from work that you can answer later, but what does catch your attention is the time. As much as it pains you to leave this moment with Frankie, you know you can’t put off the rest of your chores. It takes all of your inner resolve to start to leave, because you know that if you gave in you’d stay on this beach forever with this man, talking until the sunset and long after that. 

“I didn’t realize I had been out this long. I need to be heading back, can’t hold off unpacking forever.” You groan at the thought of all of those boxes waiting back for you. Tucking away the rocks and shells you collected earlier into your pocket, you stand up, slightly stretching as you do. Frankie lets out a laugh and moves to stand up as well, brushing the sand off his pants. 

“Well, Goose and I wish you luck with unpacking. It’s a pain in the ass, but it’s gotta be done sometime.” You both pause, looking at each other, both of you unsure of what to say next. The vulnerability of both of your confessions hangs in between you, waiting to be either brushed aside or gently embraced. You take the plunge, giving Frankie a soft smile as if to say recognize the moment you two both shared. He returns it brightly, his whole beautiful face lighting up. At that moment, you knew you were in trouble. 

“Thank you, I’ll need all the luck I can get. And thank you pretty lady for playtime. It was an honor.” You bend down to give Goose some last-minute pets and she nuzzles your hands with her wet nose. You let out a laugh upon feeling her wet nose against your skin. Standing once more, you face Frankie. 

“I hope to see you around, neighbor. It was nice to properly meet you. Both of you.”

“I hope so too”, he replies warmly before waving goodbye and heading off in the opposite direction continuing on his walk with Goose. You spend a few moments watching them leave, eyes lingering on his retreating figure. The man in the window not only has a name but a warmth you were not expecting. Feeling freshly invigorated from the sun, the water, and the spark of connecting with a stranger (who’s not really a stranger anymore), you head back to your apartment. All of a sudden, those boxes didn’t feel as overwhelming as they did before. Something told you everything was going to turn out alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter. As always, you're comments and feedback are so lovely and deeply appreciated. I'm miss-me-jack on Tumblr, so come over and say hello :)


	4. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A warm hello to you all. I initially didn't know what this chapter would look like, but after a few days of rest, inspiration struck. I have to admit I am so so happy with what resulted. I hope you enjoy it.

Warm hands slowly and delicately trail up his chest. One cups the back of his neck, drawing him closer, the other snaking into his curls and giving a gentle tug. Soft sighs of relief as your body finally meets his. His hand wraps around your waist, the other framing your check. An exhalation, a pause, the tension of eyes meeting, and the desire for lips to meet as well. He moves in, capturing your lips in his. What began as a soft touch turns quickly into one of rough desperation once he has a taste of you. Breathy moans, fingers touching all over and nowhere near enough, pulling each other closer and closer as if trying to meld into one body. He trails hot kisses down the column of your throat, your head thrown back in pleasure. Pulsing yearning throughout his body, he wants you, God, he wants more of you. Licking the salty taste of your skin down your neck to your collarbone to the tops of your breasts as you continue to writhe against him. You pull him back up to your mouth, desperate for his tongue, his lips, his taste. The vibrations of the moans resonate down his spine. He's completely overwhelmed with you. Desperate hands reaching out to touch anything, everything he can. Every curve, every soft bit of skin he can find. You moan, encased in his hands as you look at him with blown-out molten eyes. You look into his eyes and breathily exhale his name. _Frankie_.

Frankie bolts awake, the sudden sound of his phone ringing shattering his dream. Still groggy and heavy from sleep, he fumbles around looking for the phone before grabbing it, partially dropping it, then picking it up more firmly. Glancing down at the screen, he sees it’s a spam caller. Spitting out a quiet curse in annoyance, he shoves the phone back in his pocket and then instinctively looks towards the window, hoping with every fiber of his being to catch a glimpse of you. A deep sigh of disappointment leaves his body; you’re not there. Sitting upright on his couch, his back slightly aching from having fallen asleep in an awkward position. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but after the long walk on the beach with Goose, he must’ve been more tired than he thought. Feet firmly planted on the floor, he holds his head in his hands, startled and exhausted by the vivid dream he had. Startled because he’d only just met you and all of a sudden was dreaming about … well, it felt wrong. It didn’t feel wrong, but invasive. He just started to get to know you, so why should he be thinking of you that way? To be fair, you are an incredibly beautiful woman. With your lovely smile, your expressive eyes, and those lips… well, maybe it’s not so surprising after all. Frankie felt the instant connection between you two, the delicate thrumming of electricity. He wanted to reach out and brush your hand, find some excuse to steal a touch, which was where the sense of exhaustion settled in. Frankie was touch starved in general. He craved physical intimacy and missed having a partner around to share that with. Quarantine only exacerbated this problem. He was tired of wanting all the time, tired from the energy it took up in feeling those needs. Tired of wanting to be touched, to be held, to be felt. Exhausted from remembering how good it felt, warm bodies against each other, endless laughter and pleasure, the release of it all. Clearly, seeing and talking to you at the beach earlier that day had a profound effect on him, in more ways than one.

The sun dips lower in the sky, slowly blanketing the room in a soft orange glow. Goose rests peacefully in her little bed, also tuckered out from all of the excitement of the day. Frankie stands and lifts his arms up in a stretch, attempting to rid himself of the heaviness of sleep. Glancing at his watch, he sees it's about time for dinner. He gently runs his hand through his hair as he makes his way toward the kitchen. Quarantine gave Frankie plenty of time to explore new hobbies and he found that when he wasn’t rushed, he actually quite enjoyed cooking. Now he looks forward to the time spent chopping, stirring, seasoning, and tasting. It’s a quiet time for his mind to unwind and his body to release the tension from the day. He loses himself in the repetitive actions and finds it very meditative, a way to help untangle his troubled heart.

Stopping first at the fridge to grab the first beer of the evening, he then turns on the Bluetooth speaker, connects his phone, and puts on his cooking playlist. The soulful crooning of Sam Cooke floats through the room, the final element in setting the mood for a perfectly comfortable evening. Goose settles deeper into her warm bed, lulled by the comforting sounds of Frankie softly singing while prepping his ingredients as his pot with oil warms on the stove.

Soon, the aromatic scent of sauteed onions and peppers fill the air. Gently crushing a few cloves of garlic, he dices them up and adds them to the pot. The song changes to Etta James. The gentle piano begins to play and then her rich voice starts to float through the air.

**_Build your dreams to the stars above_ **

Frankie adds in dashes of paprika, cumin, and cayenne. Then an extra dash of cayenne because he likes the heat.

**_But when you need someone true to love, don’t go to strangers, darling, come on to me._ **

A whole can of crushed tomatoes gets poured into the pot. He stirs around to mix it all together and then lets it simmer. Taking another swig of his beer, his body starts to get warm and loose.

**_For when you hear a call to follow your heart, you follow your heart, I know._ **

A dash of salt. A shake of pepper. Stirring some more, then let alone to simmer and rest.

**_I’ve been through it all and I’m an old hand, and I’ll understand if you go._ **

Frankie’s gaze drifts towards the windows. Gazing through the golden hour, he finds you. You’re walking around your living room, holding up framed artwork on different spots on the wall trying to find their home. Every now and then you shake your head when one frame doesn’t fit, but let out a little triumphant shimmy when one does.

**_So make your mark for your friends to see, but when you need more than company,_ **

At this moment, everything settles into place just so Frankie thinks his heart is going to burst out of his chest. How can a moment, so ordinary and small, fill him so completely? Warmth from the setting sun, the scent of a home-cooked meal, the soft love of being so utterly content, and the joy of having a new friend. He can’t imagine what he did to feel such pleasure in the ordinary. Maybe if you live a life so chaotically and unbelievably extraordinary, your reward for surviving is a deeper appreciation for those precious moments of normalcy.

**_Don’t go to strangers, darling, come on to me._ **

Frankie walks back to the kitchen and seeing that his sauce has thickened, he stirs in feta. Once it’s been added, he makes wells in the sauce then cracks eggs into them. Popping the pot into the oven, he sets a timer so the eggs don’t overcook. He likes them to be a little runny. Cutting a few slices from a thick, crusty loaf of bread, he pops them into the toaster.

**_So make your mark for your friends to see_ **

Gathering a plate, silverware, and a second beer, he sets the table. The toast pops up and is perfectly done. The timer follows shortly after, and he opens the oven revealing the most perfectly cooked eggs in the tomato sauce. Sprinkling some fresh cilantro on top, he brings the pot in and sets it on the table. Breathing in deep, he takes a moment to appreciate the delicious smelling and beautiful looking dish he prepared. He looks at Goose, snoozing peacefully in her corner. He looks at the sky, slowly deepening into the inky night. He looks through the windows to you, now admiring the hung artwork adorning your walls.

**_But when you need more than company,_ **

Turning his gaze back to his dinner, he takes a few bites, letting out a soft moan of appreciation. As the final moments of the song drift off, he softly smiles thinking of you.

**_Don’t go to strangers, darling, come on to me._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The dish Frankie makes is Shakshuka, which happens to be one of my favorites. The song is "Don't Go to Strangers" by Etta James and I highly recommend you give it a listen. Maybe you'll add it to your cooking playlist as well! I also want to clarify that in my version Frankie has never had a wife or child, so that won't be a part of his backstory. 
> 
> I also want to take a moment and send love and strength to my fellow Americans. When I heard of RBG's passing I felt so hopeless and lost. I'll admit, I cried. I got a little drunk. I talked with my cousins and then made/devoured tacos. Then I listened to AOC and felt renewed and reassured. I turned to this fic as a way to find rest and restoration and basically wrote this chapter in one sitting. It was so healing in this moment, so thank you for reading this. I hope it finds you well. <3


	5. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, lovely people. Thank you for reading this little story of mine! I am so pleased to share it with you. This little chapter is sweet and indulgent. I hope you like it.

Soft morning sunlight spills through the curtains, signaling a new morning. The sweet sounds of rustling leaves outside your bedroom window lull you out of sleep and into the daylight. Blinking lazily, you snuggle into the warm sheets enjoying the last lingering moments of slumber. A night spent in deep and restorative sleep was just what you needed. Today already shines with promise. 

Last night was an utter success. After a few days spent ruminating on where to hang the art on the walls, a burst of energy inspired you to hang them all up. After the first piece went up the entire wall transformed before your eyes. You could picture it all in your head and spent the next few hours bringing that vision to life. On top of that, you even managed to unpack a few more boxes! Knowing that the personal and beautiful artwork flowed across the walls of the apartment, a feeling of contentment settles deep in your bones. Little by little, the space feels more like you. Each box unpacked, each piece of art hung, and each vase filled with fresh flowers you feel your heart glow brighter and brighter. 

Blinking the last sands of sleep away, the energy of a new day starts to flow through you. A warm shower, a cup of coffee, a delicious breakfast, and a walk around the neighborhood all sounded heavenly. After indulging both in the length of the shower and the sweetness of your breakfast, you bound down the stairs of your apartment building and into the sun. Crisp air fills your lungs and you feel so incandescently happy. Winding down the streets, your thoughts stray to your current state of being. In such a short amount of time, the weight lodged in your bones slowly melted away. Your body felt empty, not in a way that meant you were bereft of something, but more like a vase that sits on the windowsill; destined to be filled with something fresh and beautiful. Day by day, droplets of this newness fill the space in your heart. The memory of Frankie and Goose at the beach pops into your head. Something beautiful, indeed. 

As you head down the street, a storefront comes into view. The door and window crowning are painted deep forest green, making a lovely contrast with the brick of the building. Coming closer, you see books piled high in the window. It’s a lovely store and you feel its tug as you walk past it. You only make it a few steps before you impulsively turn back around and head into the store. It’s been so long since you’ve been in a used bookstore. Walking around a tightly enclosed space without a lot of air circulation during a global pandemic didn’t seem like the smartest move. But after looking inside, you see it’s practically empty. Your body seems to move on its own volition, not that you really object of course. As if this day couldn’t get any better!

The door opens and the gentle tinkling of a bell announces your arrival. A woman sits behind the counter, thumbing through a large paperback. She glances up at your arrival, gives a small wave, and goes back to her book. Stopping briefly at the threshold, you take in the space. The scent of old paper fills the air and the only sounds gently breaking the silence are the creaking of floorboards and the lull of soft music playing in the background. Though no one can see it behind your mask, the biggest smile has broken out on your face. You’re glad you decided to grab the extra canvas bags before you left; you’re going to need them. Walking through the main room, you turn off into a smaller alcove settling amongst the fiction. Tilting your head, your eyes begin skimming over titles and covers attentively, looking out for anything that may pique your interest. 

Fingers gently trail over the spines, feeling each ridge and curve. In this place, time ceases to exist. It’s just you, the soft music flowing through the air, and the dusty paperbacks stacked up high towards the ceiling. Cradling in your arms the books you’ve selected, you continue moving leisurely around the stacks and through the different rooms of the shop. It seems endless; a new hallway or corner appearing just when you think you’ve reached the end. The deeper you go, the quieter it gets, amplifying the sense of calm and peacefulness that energizes this space. Wandering more, you find a section of new titles to explore. Letting your eyes flit from title to title, they’re immediately drawn to one in particular. A deep scarlet cover stands out amongst all of the tan and white and its gold lettering in swirling cursive font spell out “Three by Tennessee”. Intrigued, you pick it up and start thumbing through, discovering it’s a collection of three plays by Tennessee Williams. You open up the book and start reading the introduction written by the author and find yourself instantly bewitched by his words. One page turns into two, two turns into three, and soon the world melts around you as you immerse yourself in the first play. 

“I love Tennessee. He’s one of my favorite authors.”

You jump, startled out of your reading by the sound of a familiar voice. Looking up, you see Frankie standing nearby and looking amused in your direction. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I thought you heard me.”

Letting out a breathless laugh, you relax as some of the adrenaline leaves your system. “Oh, no, it’s OK. You didn’t scare me. I didn’t realize how deep I was in the play. His writing is so hypnotic, I just couldn’t stop reading.”

“Yeah, I know exactly what you mean. I read Cat on a Hot Tin Roof in one sitting, I just couldn’t put it down.” He reaches up to adjust the ballcap on his head, running his hands through his hair. Your eyes follow, gazing distractedly at his hands before you realize it’s your turn in the conversation. 

“Have you read any of the plays in this collection?”

“Only Sweet Bird of Youth, which I liked. But you can’t go wrong with anything from him.”

“Well, it’s settled then. Now I have to get this.” Tucking the book into the growing pile in your arms, you look back at Frankie with sparkling eyes.. 

“Any other recommendations? I have a lot of shelves to fill!” 

Though you can only see his eyes because of the mask, they’re filled with warmth. His body looks relaxed as if he’s also feeling the calming energy from being surrounded by books and quiet readers. 

“Oh, now that’s a dangerous question,” he says mischievously, “because once I start I won’t know how to stop.” 

Your heart flutters at the words, sensing the delicious undercurrent hiding delicately beneath them. Adjusting your stance, you face your body directly towards him as if to welcome his unspoken invitation. The space has made you bold. 

“Who says that I’d want you to stop?” Frankie tenses, not missing the innuendo and the flirtatious voice that delivered it. Electricity crackles in the air. You laugh airily, invigorated by the exchange. “I wasn’t kidding about the shelves! I brought so many books from my old place, but there’s still room left over that’s just mocking me. Francisco, I need you.” 

With that, you take a step closer, not getting too close, but close enough. Letting the pull draw you as close as you’d dare under the circumstances. His eyes are locked onto yours, deep with something both familiar and unknown. You wish you could see his whole face, you so desperately want to see his smile. You want to make him smile. It feels so good being with him, chasing this feeling is what you want to do forever. 

Frankie clears his throat, though his voice sounds huskier. “Well, then. We wouldn’t want to let you be mocked any longer, now would we?” Both of you gaze into each others eyes, lost in the moment. The energy then shifts, the spell not broken but softened, still pulsing with the energy between you two. 

“So what kind of books do you like?”

And that’s how you spend the next two hours, walking around the mazelike bookstore, retracing your steps, but this time seeing through Frankie’s eyes. You two are deep in conversation about books, what you like and dislike, authors you connect with, books you’ve cried over. As the stacks of books under your arms grow, Frankie wordlessly takes them and holds them for you, carrying on the conversation without missing a beat. He continues to add to the pile, sometimes just looking at the title and murmuring “just trust me on this one”, before walking on steadily beside you. Every now and then, you sneak an admiring look at his arms which flex as he readjusts his hold on the books. Stolen glances coupled with his voice. Oh, his voice. Right then and there you decide that you’d listen to this man talk about anything, as long as you get to hear him. 

At no point does Frankie ever speak condescendingly to you. He never judges your tastes or chides you for not having read anything. Every book not read is a treasure undiscovered, every mutually read title a source of connection. He’s genuinely excited to share with you and equally excited to listen. You find he’s extremely well-read and isn’t at all pretentious about it. Though you thought you’d be intimidated, you find that his intellect makes him the perfect person to give recommendations. You eagerly share ideas, comments, criticisms, and wants with him. A few of the titles you offhandedly mentioned as some of your favorites had ended up in his selections, filling you with joy and the sparkling feeling of being pleased. 

You both eventually find yourself back in the main room of the shop. After paying for your purchases, you wrangle all of these new treasures into your tote bags. While you wait by the counter, Frankie pays for his books. When he’s finished, he gestures with his hand towards the door. 

“After you.” With this, he follows you with a gentle hand placed on the small of your back. A bolt of electricity shoots down your spine at his touch. If an outsider accused you of walking a little slower to savor the warmth of his hand, well, of course, you’d deny it. How successful this denial would be is another story. 

Both of you emerge back into the world, startled a bit by the bright sun and noises of the street. You walk out onto the sidewalk and turn around to face Frankie, who you could sense stopped by the removal of his hand. You take him in. Bag of books in hand, eyes calm and piercing. Emboldened by his touch, you take a small step towards him to get a little closer. You don’t want this moment to end. A chance encounter led to one of the most perfect days you’d had in such a long time. It couldn’t possibly end this soon. You hadn’t had your fill of Frankie; topics of conversations and possible invitations bounce furiously around your head, hoping to find one so perfect that would convince him to stay, stay, stay a little longer. 

He breaks the silence first. “I’m so glad I ran into you here. I hadn’t been to this place since lockdown first started but when I walked past it today something told me to go inside and look around. And then I found you.”

Though he can’t see it, you feel your face burn with pleasure. Inside, your heart is singing. He continues.

“Today was one of the best days I’ve had in a while. It’s nice to talk to you, you always have something so smart and thoughtful to say.”

“Are you sure you’re not just saying that because of your lack of social interaction? Because anyone seems impressive when you’ve been isolated for so long!” You say this lightly with a laugh, to let him know you’re teasing him while also being uneasy to accept such a compliment. 

He barks out a laugh. “No! No, it’s not that. It’s you. I’m positive it’s you.” 

“I like talking to you too, Frankie. It feels so … easy. Like I just start and the words keep flowing out of me and the next thing I realize is I’ve just been going on. You have such an intense way of listening. Like you actually give a damn as to what the person is saying and when they’re talking”, you pause, searching for the right words, “it’s like they’re the only one you see. You don’t really meet people like that anymore.”

“You don’t, do you?” With this, you two melt into each other's gaze, the sounds and sights of the world around you fading into the background, leaving only two people, anxious and new, wondering if this was it. Your whole chest started to unravel, the blood in your veins pumping with a fire you haven’t felt in a long time. You felt so utterly and completely alive that it took your breath away. Frankie awoke a part of you that was left dormant to wither away. A man who’s practically a stranger took only a few chance meetings to make you see parts of yourself again that you thought were gone forever. Not only that, but new parts were slowly budding, waiting to make an introduction. It was thrilling, this feeling of something. You wanted to chase it forever and taste it and bury it in your veins. 

“On your left!” A bike whooshes down the sidewalk, startling Frankie and you out of your stupor. Frankie pulls you out of the way, drawing you closer into his arms. Startled, you press your hands to his chest for balance and let out a startled laugh. Both of you look at each other and then laugh at the tension lost and the slight adrenaline rush from almost being taken out by a biker. 

“Can I walk you home? Before one of us gets into another collision.” His laughter lingers in his words, full of buoyant giddiness. 

“Yes, I’d love that.”

And so Frankie walks you home, both of you idly chatting about your evening plans on the way back. Unsurprisingly, both of you plan on spending a quiet evening at home, as they’re still a pandemic happening and you want to be safe. Effortless chatter is exchanged, calming you. Francisco Morales was constantly full of surprises. And hopefully, you’d be around to discover as many of them as you can. You get to your building and exchange goodbyes and a promise to meet at the lake soon. You miss that sweet little Goose and would love another play date with her. With a final wave goodbye and a lingering glance, you head into your building and mentally pump yourself up for the flights of stairs you’re about to take. Bags of books in hand, you square your shoulders and begin the climb.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> September was a rough fucking month. I felt so tired and desperately ready for the invigorating energy of October. Only one day into a new month and I already feel the difference. Feeling hopeful and spooky and ready for Autumn in its full glory. Sending health and love to you all! 
> 
> https://pin.it/6wypYSE Check out the Pinterest board I've made for this story! I really enjoy fleshing out the world in a visual way.


	6. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter picks up directly after chapter four. I struggled to find inspiration for a long time (aka months) and I decided to claw this out of my brain. I hope you enjoy this self-indulgent, romantic mess as much as I do. To be frank, I experimented a lot with the writing in this chapter, so I’m anxious to hear how it’s received.

Weathered pages bound between the delicate paper coverings flutter in the breeze that carries through your apartment. All is still except for the rustling of the gauzy curtains, they too are obliged to move as the soft wind commands it. A trail of clothing marks a trail like breadcrumbs towards a cracked-open bathroom door. Steam and the sounds of water pour from the opening. Instead of a haggard witch waiting behind the door, a singing young woman stands relaxed and reposed under the hot water. Though the objects of their desires are of the human variety, the nature of their hunger differs in how they hope it to be satiated. Possessing a gnawing hunger so deep that it refuses to be ignored, waiting to be satisfied. Even though the ending of your desires will not venture into the frankly disturbing and literal consumption, you so wanted to consume Frankie. Every touch, every glance, every word filled you but still leaves you wanting more.

These are the thoughts drifting in a lazy haze through your mind, solidifying and dissipating with the steam. The water relaxes your muscles, sending all of the lingering tensions swirling down the drain, but the buzz from your day with Frankie is too deep to be touched by the water. It’s under your skin, a subtle vibration deliciously coursing through your veins. And as the sweet scent of your body wash caresses your nose, a deeper sigh exhales from somewhere deep inside your chest.

You can still feel his arms embracing you, the heat of the hand at the small of your back. It’s just so surreal that you can feel this way again. After such a long time of worrying, it becomes futile when you recognize that this is real. It has a pulse, a heartbeat so steady and true. It’s real and, surprisingly, this doesn’t fill you with fear. It feels … so right. And what better way to welcome this feeling than by welcoming yourself into its arms. Tonight is a night to celebrate. Tonight is a night for worship. It’s been so long since you took the time to dote on yourself. And what better day to go through the rituals of care than a day when you’ve felt so alive and full of a feeling you dare not name but recognize so intimately.

As you lather shampoo, conditioner, and a mask through your tresses, the last lingering knots and tension loosen away until you’re nothing but softness and warmth. Inside you’re tenderly fanning the flames, nurturing the fire that came from little touches, glances, and unspoken tension. It’s as if you understand, for the first time, the heat of desire. It’s intoxicating, coating you in a luscious and sinful feeling. In your home, in your own element, wrapped in perfume, you feel dangerous. And you want to be bad.

Turning off the water, you forgo toweling off in favor of using oils on your skin. It feels almost ancient, this ritual as if you’re just one woman in a long line continuing the tradition of loving oneself in intimate and soft ways. Finished, you take care of your hair and delicately smear a clay mask on your face. It’s early evening, the sun just starting to set, and two thoughts cut through the relaxed fog in your mind: you realize that the windows are wide open and the towel is folded with the other clean laundry on your bed. If this was any other day, any other moment, you would’ve felt a tiny amount of bashfulness. But today, you felt bold. You felt beautiful. And you feel most of all, mischievous. So instead of rushing to your bedroom for your towel, you exit the bathroom and begin to linger. Maybe there’s an extra sway to your hips. Maybe your shoulders are thrown back a little more, your head held a little higher. Through this wish to be seen by someone else, a certain someone who lives beyond the window, you begin to see yourself.

Deciding that now is a perfectly fine time to start preparing dinner, you walk around gathering ingredients and tools you need and placing them on the table. Indulging in a quick glance towards the windows, the lack of blinds allows your eyes to peer right into Frankie’s softly lit apartment. The current object of your affections must be occupied somewhere else as he isn’t in the main room. Maybe that’s for the best. The oil has since dried, revealing silky smooth skin. Making your way to the bedroom, you smirk at the towel in a moment of mutual acknowledgment, like it somehow knew that you weren’t exactly missing it.

Rummaging around your drawers, fingers touch smooth lace, silks, and gauzy fabrics until you come across the One. The black silk teddy with lace around the edges sits at the bottom of the drawer, waiting patiently for your gentle hands to touch. Oh, it’s perfect. Slipping it on, it glides and smooths out perfectly like bespoke armor. Now, it’s time.

Making your way back to your living room, you cover every surface in candles, wanting to bathe in their glow. Turning on the Bluetooth speaker, you connect your phone and put on your cooking playlist, then waltz into the kitchen. Time to start the sauce.

\---

(A few moments earlier, as felt by the man in question.)

After walking you home, Frankie’s filled with an energy he hasn’t felt in such a long time. Even Goose can sense the extra excitement that fills the air. She’s jumping and running around as if trying to find the reason for such energy. And as the feedback cycle continues, Frankie feeds off Goose’s own joy and giddiness.

God, he feels like a teenager again. As if sensing his boyish desire, the universe blesses a slight reprieve to his impatient wanting. The moment his bashful eyes tentatively glance back towards your apartment, you loosely move through the living room and just as quickly disappear out of sight. After a few minutes of not reappearing, he decides it’s time to start dinner. First, Goose gets her food, and then Frankie starts to prepare. An old movie plays in the background, providing white noise for his running thoughts to fill the space.

Huffing as his body hits the plush chair, what should’ve been a nonchalant sip of beer turns into a spit take when his brain stops lagging and registers what his eyes are seeing.

You. Walking around your living room. Windows wide open. And completely naked.

Slumping down, he runs a hand through his hair, glancing quickly, swearing, sinking deeper into the chair. Rubbing his eyes does nothing to erase the image of you that is now effectively seared into his brain. Fuck. He didn’t mean to look! Well, yes, he did. But he never expected to see you looking like _that_. He just peered out of his windows and his eyes happened to draw towards the windows in your apartment and there you were. The seconds pass by, one for every loud beat of his heart. Seconds turn to minutes. Adrenaline fueled giddiness bubbles up in his chest, but as it reaches his throat it solidifies into a guilt so thick it chokes him.

He doesn’t want to intrude on you at that moment any more than he already has, even as his traitorous heart whispers seductively to do it again. So he waits. After what feels like an eternity, gathered courage and the return of a normal heart rate prompt him to peek out from his slouched hiding place. Relief courses through his body as an empty apartment looks back at him, though it’s laced with just enough disappointment and longing to remind Frankie that he’s still a bit of a scoundrel.

Creaking joints and stiff muscles groan as he sits up and moves back into the kitchen to continue cooking. What he needs now is a distraction. The repetitive lull provided by the steady motions of chopping and slicing is the perfect distraction. But with every _thump_ of his knife against the cutting board, flashes of you strike across his brain. He gets increasingly worried about his fingers, but there’s no hope for the vegetables as they’ve been the victims of his reckless chopping. Oblong and wonky shapes taunt him, proof of his mind wandering somewhere else.

He couldn’t get you out of his head before this and now there’s no chance of ever forgetting you. And why would he want to? The delicate dance between the two of you, this duality to your relationship, is intoxicating. On one hand, he knows you, knows your laugh and smile, what books you like, and about your life. On another hand, he sees you. Placing fresh flowers all around your apartment, walking around in circles while you talk on the phone, curled up with a glass of wine enjoying the late evening peace. It’s simultaneously too much for him to bear and simply not enough. And now with this new addition to the tapestry of you, he finds himself slipping deeper into this secret, voyeuristic, perverse, friendly oblivion. Frankie is a trained pilot. He knows the skies better than he knows himself. For every scenario, he’s trained to know how to fix it, prevent disaster. But for once in his life, the idea of falling wasn’t so terrifying. In fact, it feels a little bit like freedom.

\---

_Just move slow babe_

_The world is all yours, your flow babe_

_'Cause you know babe, I'm all yours_

_So don't go babe,_

_dance one more time,_ _one more babe_

_And get close babe,_ _'cause you're mine_

Your red sauce simmers on the stove, it’s mouth-watering aroma filling your apartment. Pasta bubbles in the next pot over, a breath away from al dente. Once drained, you set the pasta back down and head back into the living room to prep other herbs and spices. Carrying your wine glass loosely in your hand, you feel light and languid. The deep, rich red liquid swirls in your glass as you move your body to the beat of the music. Outside, the sun has started to set into blushing pinks and golds. Taking in the cool evening breeze, the song switches to “Midnight” by Lianne La Havas, and in that very moment, it’s as if all of the pieces in your life have aligned. It breaks your heart how perfect, yet so ordinary, this little moment is. Sometimes, there is a moment where the whole world seems to pause and hold its breath, allowing the present to settle into something so gentle and real. And in this space, you are allowed to recognize the enormity of such a small gift. The way life feels so vast, yet so perfectly intimate, when moments like the one you’re living in exist. You already miss it, yet it hasn’t even come to pass. The bittersweet tang is quickly washed away by the wave of warmth caressing your soul. For in the silence, there is a settling of self. And through this, love is found.

Opening your eyes, bit by bit, you see Frankie. Slowly, with ease, you open your eyes. And bit by bit, as your eyes peer through the golden sun setting in the sky, you see Frankie. It isn’t lost on you that he’s what you see first after such a moment. It looks like he’s settling in for the evening, also making dinner. Smiling softly, you feel the mischievousness inching back knowing that he’s home and can potentially see you. As if the universe can sense this change in energy, a new song comes on and immediately coats the room in a thick tension of wanting. You don’t know for sure if he’s seen you tonight, but it doesn’t matter. It’s the delicious maybe that sends a thrill down your spine, the honeyed potential that you seek. The heavy beat pulses through you and around the room, further loosening your hips. Taking a delicate sip of your wine, you start to let go.

_Can someone hurry up I miss her_

_Black diamonds and pearls_

_I cannot take it,_

_I might not make it_

Roaming around the room, you continue your preparations. The fresh scent of herbs fills your nose, their green so stark against the wood cutting board. Thick, crusty bread warming in the oven adds to the aromatic symphony. Licking your lips, you take another indulgent look towards Frankie’s apartment. His back is to you, but your heart flutters at the broadness of his shoulders and the way his shirt stretches across his back. Fingers twitch, desperately wanting to run your hands over his shoulders and up into his mop of brown hair. You feel your chest constrict with desire. He’s devastatingly handsome, even in these relaxed moments. Especially in these domestic moments. Coupled with the ones you’re welcomed to, you’re fed by the intimacy of it all. The more you know Frankie’s head and heart, the stronger your want for him becomes. And on a night like tonight, one so indulgent and powerful, the boldness growing inside you is starting to feel like it might not be able to stay contained in the confines of your apartment. Maybe, this will spill into the light of day, the real world, where there’s no barrier of a window or secrecy. Where you’re forced to face yourself and your feelings. And the feelings you have growing inside you are becoming more tangible, more real, with names and memories that can’t possibly be there. It hasn’t been that long since he came into your life, but then again, since when is there a timeline for this? Who’s to say how fast or slow attraction needs to grow?

Stealing a few more seconds of looking, once Frankie starts to move like he’s going to turn around, you scurry back into the kitchen, not quite ready to be caught. The sauce is done, so you add your pasta, splashing a bit of the pasta water as well. Mixing it together, you then add handfuls of fresh Parmigiano cheese, thickening it into a delicious and indulgent meal. After plating your meal and topping off your wine, you sit down and survey your work. All of the aromas gently wrap around you like a warm familiar sweater.

The wine and candlelight create an ambiance of otherworldliness like you’re in a space separate from mortal time. The first bite elicits a deep moan from your wine-stained lips. Now, this is how a woman should be celebrated; this is what it means to be loved.

\---

It’s not like he had any other plans for tonight. So lingering around in his living room isn’t that unusual. It has nothing to do with wanting to catch glimpses of you. After you reemerged, this time in black lingerie, Frankie felt almost all of his resolve burn away in an inferno of straight-up desire. It’s not like he had your number, he couldn’t ask you over. And he was certainly not going to go over to the window and shout. He has some restraint for god’s sake. To console his aching body, he remembers earlier in the day how he held you so close, how it felt to have your warm body pressed up against his. Lingering hands on your back, lending a steadying grip and instinctively drawing you near. He’s only a man, and one weakened from yearning at that. And seeing you in that scrap of silk, confident and comfortable, he naturally imagines what it would feel like to have you in his arms like that, soft and smooth. Running his hands over the silk, trailing kisses down the curve of your neck. Feeling your warmth in a different way, more private, and with intention. He doesn’t want to subside on stolen touches and in the moment acts of closeness. He wants to be able to choose, to cultivate those moments with purpose; to touch you with purpose.

After setting his table, he spends his time lazily making multiple trips back in and out of the room, just so he has a natural excuse for his eyes to flit towards the window. Goose rests on her soft bed in the corner, falling asleep almost immediately after filling her belly. Her soft breathing broken up by soft little snores is so cute it hurts. Goose did seem to like you. She liked you a lot when he thought about it. Normally somewhat shy with new people, Goose didn’t waste any time jumping into your lap at the beach.

Turning his back to the windows, he fixes the table with all of his dishes and a fresh beer. Before quarantine Frankie would just eat whatever and wherever, but this time alone has revealed how much he enjoys these domestic little rituals keeping him grounded. As the last bowl joins the others on the table, Frankie indulges in a final glance and his heart stutters at the scene that greets him. Mirroring him so perfectly, you’re sitting at your own table eating dinner. Your fork moves from your plate up to your mouth, a lulling repetition of movements so familiar. Up to your mouth, tongue out to taste, down to the plate, chew, and swallow. Every so often this pattern would be altered to welcome the wine glass, your lips delicately wrapping around the lip. Flickering candlelight casts soft shadows around the room, enveloping the room in a golden haze, and Frankie’s heart sighs at the sight. It looks so … warm. So inviting and comfortable and … home. It looks like home.

But for now, as he simultaneously sits bereft of your tenderness and yet somehow overwhelmed in it, Frankie settles into his own evening. And if he closes his eyes and time it just right, he can pretend that he's in the moment with you. One day, instead of craving this feeling from afar, he’s going to be able to know how it tastes. Instead of fingers twitching at his sides flexing from the restrained need, he’ll be able to reach out and touch. One day, instead of nervous glances and peering in from the outside, he’ll be able to know, so deeply, what it is to see. And on that day, a day he now knows will only be with you, he’ll be able to reap the rewards of love.

\---

With a final sip of wine, a feeling of fullness settles into your stomach and travels throughout your body. Briefly cleaning up, you grab a pint of gelato and lazily make your way to the couch, needing to lie down and stretch after such a decadent meal. The wine has softened the edges of reality just enough to take the remaining edge of tension away, but not enough to make you dizzy. On the walk to the couch, you see Frankie clearing away his table. A pleasant feeling spreads throughout you knowing that the two of you had dinner together. The unintentional domesticity of it all delights you. Biting your bottom lip to keep a smile from blooming across your face is futile, you try anyway, but the wine demands you confront your truths and so the smile blossoms. The plush couch cradles your body comfortably. Finding a position that lets you eat your dessert and watch some TV takes no time at all. The screen flickers to life and an old black and white movie comes on screen. It’s one you’ve seen before, a long time ago, but the faint memories of it bring nothing but enjoyment, so you decide to take a chance and see where it goes. Limbs settle into the couch, the sweetness of the gelato cools your tongue and warm cheeks, and the evening of worship deepens. Peering over your shoulder, Frankie lies reposed on his own couch nursing a beer. Oh, to be lying in his lap, letting the evening pass by without a care.

And so, the worship of the divine continues on into the night. And as the credits roll on the heartbreakingly sweet movie, a few tears slip past your lashes. Not wanting to let the moment pass, you indulge in it for a little bit longer. Today, this was what you needed. The edges of your vision begin to blur, this time because of the sleepiness creeping into your body. As the last embers of candlelight flicker, you breathe in the air and send a silent thank you out into the universe. Today, this was what you needed. But tomorrow. Oh, tomorrow. You smile softly as you start blowing out the flames. Tomorrow will ask you the question you’ve spent all day asking yourself. And now, after a day filled to the brim with love, you won’t be afraid to answer.

Lingering over the remaining lit candle, you take a final moment to look through the inky night and into Frankie’s apartment. He’s asleep on the couch illuminated by the light of his TV. An urge to run your fingers through his hair washes over you and you smile. So much time has been spent waiting for the right moment. But in reality, there will never be a right moment. It’s a lie we tell ourselves to act as a balm for the sharp worry and festering fear in our hearts. For so long you tried to convince yourself that you’ve been happy waiting for this elusive moment. But the world around you has changed so drastically, so quickly, that it’s no longer possible to wait. Time is never guaranteed, but now more than ever it's increasingly apparent why it’s so desperately coveted. So as you take a final look at the sleeping man, you vow that you won’t let “next time” be an excuse. Francisco Morales literally and metaphorically crashed into your life. Who are you to ignore this blessing of a man from the universe? Who are you to ignore the obvious poetry and message behind your meeting? Time is precious. Your time is precious. And this man, this kind, beautiful, mystery of a man makes you happy. Bending down, you make one last entreaty while at your altar; it doesn’t matter what you ask of him or what you do, but darling please, _just do something_. Don’t let him get away. And so with your final words of worship and a solid sense of finality that pulls you closer into the relaxing realm of sleep, you put your lips together and blow out the flame.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the delay. I went through a rough patch of writer's block that only worsened as the realities of life and school got heavier. But I am feeling fresher and the holidays are soon, so I hope to get more writing done. I experimented a lot with the writing in this chapter, so I'm anxious to see how it's received. Again, as always thank you for reading. I'm miss-me-jack on Tumblr, come say hello! Also, here's the link to my Pinterest board that holds all of the visual inspirations for this story. https://pin.it/3DBlwYZ


	7. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s convinced of his desire and she stands just as resolute in hers. It’s no longer a “will they”, but a “when will they”. And the “when” is closer than you think …
> 
> (updated story tags, so take notice of that)   
> TW: mentions depression, alcohol dependency, mention of addiction, bad/struggling mental health

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my lovely readers! I'm so sorry for the long wait. My father had a COVID scare, my mother had unexpected health issues, and I was finishing a particularly difficult semester of graduate school. So life got a bit away from me, but I am feeling refreshed and ready to write. This chapter was sitting in the drafts for a while, but I'm excited about what's here and where we are going. If you're still with me, thank you. I hope you enjoy.

The hypnotic lapping of waves against the rocky shore caresses your ears, as they too are still waking up in the soft morning hour. Normally not a morning person, last night sleep came easy and deep. As the sun started to rise, so too did you, feeling uncharacteristically fresh and awake. Deciding to take advantage of the world’s quiet, you made some coffee, packed a blanket and your book, and went down to the lake. Lying down on a long, soft blanket you bathe in the golden rays, softened by the early morning haze that blankets the sky.

In your hands lies one of the recently purchased titles from your recent trip to the bookstore with Frankie. You’ve come across East of Eden a thousand times before but never felt the pull to pick it up. But once you both came across this well loved copy, Frankie’s warm brown eyes lit up with fondness and a hint of mirth.

_“You’ve never read East of Eden?” His mouth quirks into a mischievous smile._

_“No, I’ve never had a reason too.”_

_“Well,” Frankie picks up the book, stroking his finger down the spine with eyes on you, “would you like one?”_

Your lips quirk at the memory. Unsurprisingly, Frankie was right. Once you gave it a chance you were quickly swept into the drama and Steinbeck’s beautiful prose. Though it was a massive tome, you already made considerable progress with no signs of stopping. And with a quiet beach that you had almost all to yourself, a refreshing morning breeze, and hot coffee you imagined at least a few more pages would pass your fingertips.

As the colors in the sky melt into something more pink and welcoming, the stillness of the scene draws over you with the rising dawn. A silent and hypnotic repetition emerges; turn a page, feel them making a home in your heart, a sip of coffee. And again. A wry chuckle, the chattering of birds flying high overhead, and that dry flutter of a turning page meld with the everpresent waves to form a fresh and unequaled song full of peace.

A risen sun and two chapters later, more presence of life begins to fill the scene. Shrieking of children running into the waves floats through the air from down the shore, as does the sound of distant barking. The lake has fully stretched and yawned, now awake and ready for a full day of hosting life. Reminding people of the beauty and peace offered through nature. It feels untouched, this slice of paradise, from the disease that’s ravaging the world. You can almost forget, here in this wild oasis, that something in the world is wrong. Here, where the sounds of children laughing and dogs barking and people connecting drift through the wind. It feels like relief.

Curling up onto your side to find a new comfortable position, you hear that distant barking again, but this time it doesn’t sound so far off. Looking up you see a familiar canine face currently making a beeline for you.

“Goose! Hello, my love!” Sitting up fully, you set your book facedown and playfully open your arms out wide, awaiting the embrace. As predicted, Goose runs full speed into your arms and starts licking at your neck and shimming her tiny little body. She’s buzzing with excitement, giving little yips and kisses. Laughter peals out from you, overjoyed at seeing your friend, but secretly even more excited for the man you’re inevitably about to see. But you did miss Goose and take time giving her all of the pets to make up for lost time.

Calmed down a bit, Goose pants as she sits in your lap, looking up at you with her huge eyes. “Hello, sweet girl. I’ve missed you.” Eyes glance up and see Frankie making his way over, running his hand through his hair and holding his cap in the other. “I’ve missed your dad, too. But that’s a secret, little miss, OK?” Goose gives an affirmative bark, prompting another burst of laughter and a genuine smile.

“Goose, c’mon baby you can’t just - oh, hi.” Frankie stops a few feet away, looking too exasperated for a man who most likely just started his day. Sleep still lingers in his eyes. His olive green shirt is wrinkled, most likely from his nightly rest, but his jeans and tennis shoes bridge the gap from slumber and semi-awake adult.

Breathing out a soft hello, you’re momentarily stunned by the open softness of the man. Early mornings suit him and you selfishly want to see him like this again.

“I - I’m sorry. She woke up with so much energy this morning. I’m a little tired and she saw you and just ran. I wasn’t expecting her to bolt and”, Frankie tries to fight the yawn threatening to escape his lips, but to no avail, “oof, sorry, I’m still waking up. If she’s bothering you …”

He makes a move to pick up her leash, but it’s sluggish. Due to his sleepiness, yes, but the hesitation makes your heart stutter. He’s giving you an out, but you promised yourself you’d be bold.

“She’s never a bother, that sweet girl. It’s always a treat to see her. To see both of you, actually. Would you like to sit for a while? I brought some coffee with me, it’s fresh. You look like you might need it,” you say with a smile. Motioning to the thermos beside you and then to the space at the other end of your long blanket, you look at him right in his beautiful brown eyes.

 _You can do this, be bold._ The mantra repeats in the absence of spoken words, but you feel Frankie relax. A languorous smile graces his face and he nods, sitting down at the other end, his back facing the lake. Backlit by the morning sun, tired and warmed from sleep, Frankie looks beautiful. So much so that your heart twinges. Pouring the steaming coffee into the thermos cup, you hold out the aromatic liquid for him to take. His fingers brush against yours and they linger for just enough time, enough to know it’s intentional. Breath catches in your throat as he pulls back and takes a long, indulgent drink of the morning elixir. You watch his throat, his large hand dwarfing the tiny cup, and his morning scruff. Goose, feeling deprived of attention, suddenly nudges your hand, startling you out of your staring, her stern reminder that you need to resume your gentle pets. And you happily oblige.

“Mmm, thank you. This is delicious. And so needed. This little one rushed me before I could make any, she just had to go outside.” He smiles ruefully at Goose, rubbing his stubbled chin before resting his free hand slung across his knee.

“I’m glad she did. Because otherwise, I wouldn’t have gotten to see you. And on such a beautiful morning, too. Almost like it’s fate.” With this, you coyly take a sip out of the thermos yourself, feeling the sparks in your fingertips. Once you allowed yourself to be free from insecurities, once you accepted how he had made you feel and what you wanted, you found that being playful and direct came so … easily. And you can tell it’s unexpected from the blush warming Frankie’s cheeks ever so delicately.

“What brings you out here so early? Couldn’t sleep?”

“The opposite, actually. I slept really well and when I woke up I just felt so awake and fresh. I’m not normally a morning person, so I figured I’d take advantage of this energy and enjoy the quiet. See the lake, listen to the waves.”

“And get some reading done, too,” he murmurs, nudging your copy of East of Eden with his foot, a knowing smile lighting up his face.

“You didn’t lead me astray with your recommendations. If they’re all as good as this one, I’m in for a treat.”

“You like it?”

“Shockingly, yes. I thought Steinbeck was going to be just another boring American author shoved down the throats of high schoolers, but his prose is … magnetic. He paints the scene so vividly in such beautiful ways. I can’t put the book down.”

“He does have a sort of candid poeticism, doesn’t he?” Frankie smiles, warmed by the knowledge that not only have you been reading a book he picked out, but were falling deeper into its pages and getting just as lost in it as he had.

“He does” you murmur softly, taking another sip of your morning coffee. Goose has settled into your lap, feeling the relaxed and peaceful scene around her. Frankie, too, looks relaxed. He looks younger like this, sitting in the sun. Feeling nothing but the gentle breeze and heat from the coffee. Propped up on his side, one knee bent with his foot planted in the sand, he looks like a model. Sleepy, yet so awake. Tussled, yet so sublime. You would laugh out loud, but the silence begs to not be disturbed. It feels that just moments after you’ve made peace with the fact that there’s never a “right time” to make a move, the universe lays one softly at your feet. It’s here and you’re not left breathless like you anticipated. In fact, you’re ready.

“Have you seen your brothers lately? Things have loosened up a little, so I thought maybe you would have.” At the mention of his brothers, Frankie’s eyes lock onto yours, tinged with surprise. He’s pleased you remembered.

“Not in person. We have those video calls sometimes, but it’s not the same. I talk on the phone with Pope about what feels like every other day. He’s always calling, just to check in or say hi to Goose. Or I call him and make sure he’s eating something other than greasy takeout and beer.”

He chuckles and rubs his scruff contemplatively.

“I miss them. I didn’t realize how much I would. I mean- they are my brothers, but we’ve never had a point in our relationship when we weren’t able to be together, you know? Just being in the same space as them, I really miss that. Just being with another person and having those moments where you could just, I don’t know, zone out and feel it all? Now that it’s just myself and Goose I’ve--I have a lot to be thankful for. They’re all healthy, I’m healthy and my job is relatively stable. So it’s not like I have any room to complain.”

“But if I gave you some room …” you say gently and knowingly.

He sighs. “But if you did, I’d say how much this all fucking sucks. It’s awful. I miss going out for a beer with my brothers, I miss being able to fly, hell, I even miss dating! And it’s not like I was doing a lot of it before this!” He chuckles ruefully. “It’s times like these where we really meet ourselves for the first time. And I really thought I knew who I was.” At this, he gets a sort of haunted look as if his mind is taking him back to a place that he can now go safely but it’s not a place he enjoys visiting. Because it takes something each time. It’s a look you instantly recognize, as it’s the same one you feel settling onto you on darker days. Shaking his head a bit, he smiles back at you. “I’m sorry. It’s too early in the morning for that kind of talk.”

“I think we’ve seen that there’s no such thing as the right time. We make it ourselves and do with it what we can. So you don’t need to apologize, Frankie, especially for being honest. You should never apologize for sharing how you feel.”

You take another sip of coffee then continue.

“And I, I understand. Up until now, I’ve been dependent on the false reliability of ‘next time’. Just assuming that there always would be. Another chance for dinner with friends, another chance for a first date, another chance to be with the people you care about. But that’s not promised.” You look down at Goose as you continue stroking her soft ears.

“Realizing that forced me to remember how precious those moments are. And how when you manage to find them in times like this”, you peer back into his warm brown eyes, “you need to hold onto them with all you’ve got. Because you don’t know when you’ll have something like that again.”

“I guess we all were forced to realize that so quickly. But there have been good things that have happened, too. For one, I met this little lady.” He fondly gestures down to the reposed pup. “I’ve had time to find new things I enjoy, like cooking. I’ve always been so busy with work and everything, I just never had to set aside time for it. Turns out I’m pretty good at it.”

He gives you a playful smile and your heart ignites.

“You mentioned that you miss flying, are you a pilot?”

“Helicopter pilot. I fly for a company that does private flights. Mostly businessmen and sightseeing tours. Not as intense as what I used to do, but it pays the bills.”

“What did you use to do?”

“Military. I was in a special operations unit in the Army. Flew for them for years. That’s actually where I met my brothers. We all served together in the same unit. A bond forged by blood, as they say.” His demeanor tenses slightly, as if he’s uncomfortable. You worry that you’re stepping into unwanted territory, a place that he might not be too keen to discuss. The morning sun softens around you, clouds dotting the sky. Goose settles into your lap, slipping into a light morning snooze. Frankie looks warily at you when your pause goes on for a few seconds too long.

“I don’t want to ask about anything that makes you uncomfortable. I didn’t mean to pry.”

“No. No-I- I’m fine. It’s just … there’s going to come a point in the conversation when you ask me why I’m not in the military anymore and I’m not sure how to tell you without-,” he cuts himself off and roughly exhales, before running his hand through his messy curls. Feeling a bit guilty, the hunch you had now confirmed, it takes all of your control to not reach over and touch his hand reassuringly.

“Whatever it is, Frankie, if you don’t feel comfortable telling me, you don’t have to. You were in the military, where you met your brothers, and now you live here with Goose and you fly helicopters. That’s all I need to know. And if you want to tell me then I will be here to listen. But if I haven’t earned your trust yet, you don’t need to explain yourself. You don’t owe me that. Not until, if ever, I earn it.”

Looking down at the cup in his hand, he takes a moment in the space. The two of you breathe together, listening to the sounds of the waves. As your admission settles into the space, his head turns towards yours, brown eyes softened into something tinged with desperate thanks.

“Thank you. I- thank you.”

“That’s not necessary,” you murmur, “but you’re welcome. Your brothers, are they still in the army?”

Shooting you a grateful look at the subject change, you can tell that he’s a man not comfortable talking about himself.

“No. Pope works in the private sector, doing contractor work here and there. Will gives motivational speeches to Army recruits and his brother Benny’s an MMA fighter.” He cocks his head ruefully. “He’s not too bad either. And Tom-”

Frankie flinches immediately and you feel bile rise in your throat. For the second time in less than five minutes, you’ve led him down a path that has nothing but ghosts and unwelcome memories. This time Frankie doesn’t know how to continue, his tense figure, clenched jaw, and slightly glazed eyes signaling that you have precious minutes left before you lose him into the abyss of wherever he’s unwanted to go.

“Before I moved here, my depression was so bad that I was sleeping for twelve hours a day. And during the hours that I was awake, most of them were spent chasing the bottom of a bottle.”

Frankie’s head shoots up to look at you, his eyes immediately clear and intensely focused on you. You continue your lulling pets on Goose, spending time to caress her tiny ears and soft fur.

“I would wait until everyone was asleep. Then I’d go downstairs and drink. Eventually, I’d go to sleep, wake in the late afternoon, and repeat. It- it wasn’t a huge problem,” you chuckle softly, “I wasn’t an alcoholic per se. It was a few glasses a night, give or take. But it was the only thing that made me forget. I’ve stopped that though. I’m healthier here and have a better hold on myself.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“I inadvertently asked questions that made you feel uncomfortable, so I thought I’d offer something of mine in return. So you’d feel like you weren’t the only one giving something away.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” he says softly, eyes gentle.

“I know,” you murmur reflecting the softness in his eyes, “but I wanted to. It’s mine to give away and I thought, maybe you’d feel less alone. We all have our baggage, some heavier than others, but feeling that ownership, knowing that it’s ours to share on our own terms, takes a bit of its power away.” You take another sip of coffee.

“I’m proud of who I’ve become. I have a feeling that you are as well. But we all reconcile with it differently. This isn’t me pressuring you, but letting you know that I’m here for when you might want someone else to carry it for a while.”

Clearing his throat, he takes another sip of coffee and then adjusts his body. Now facing you head-on, a small smile graces his lips as he takes in you and Goose, relaxed and reposed. Another gentle breeze rustles your hair and flutters some of the pages of your book. This catches his eye and he stretches to pick it up.

“What part are you on in the book?” he asks suddenly. Thumbing through the book, he comes to your bookmark and scans the page. He takes a breath, shoots you a playful look, and taking your breath away, he begins to read.

“Time interval is a strange and contradictory matter in the mind. It would be reasonable to suppose that a routine time or an eventless time would seem interminable. It should be so, but it is not. It is the dull eventless times that have no duration whatever. A time splashed with interest, wounded with tragedy, crevassed with joy - that's the time that seems long in the memory. And this is right when you think about it. Eventlessness has no posts to drape duration on. From nothing to nothing is no time at all.” He stops and looks up at you, a stillness laced with understanding settling amongst the two of you.

Your eyes haven’t left his reposed figure, letting his voice lull you while your eyes danced from his neck, curved to look towards the page, down towards his hands, rough and smooth clutching your book. His nose, his eyes, the soft curve of his cheek. A loose curl has fallen onto his forehead while he read and you wanted nothing more than to be the one to gently brush it back.

Eyes lock and it seems that the time you spent together, while it may be no time at all, has been full of seconds and minutes breathing life into something new.

Frankie glances down, eyes catching the time on his watch, and does a slow double take. The early morning is long over and though every fiber of his being is pleading with him to stay, stay right here, he knows that it’s time to head back.

Goose perks up, as if sensing the call of home, and begins to make her way back to Frankie. You too understand this as the beginning to the inevitable goodbye but are still invigorated from the promise. _Be bold_.

“Can I see you again?”

Frankie stands with Goose at his heels and you sit up, pressing your arms back into the stand behind you. Tilting your head up to see him clearly, the sunlight dances on your skin. Frankie can’t believe it. You’re glowing, this literal embodiment of warmth and goodness, and you want to see him again. Fluttering butterflies erupt in his stomach. He feels like he’s flying.

“I’d like that,” he says with a smile that he’s struggling to contain within its softness, feeling it yearning to bloom into something full and lush.

“As a date,” you elaborate, “I don’t want to keep relying on chance to see you again.” Your playful, yet true, smile blossoms across your own face. You watch him blush slightly, eyes widening at your candor.

“You’re asking me out on a date?”

“Yes! Maybe we could have dinner here? I’d love to taste your cooking and it’s outside, so we can enjoy each other and be safe. And the lovely Miss Goose can come if she’d like.”

Reaching across from you, you rip off a piece of paper from the blank title page of _East of Eden_ , writing your name and phone number on it.

Your hand reaches out, his meeting you to bridge the air pulsing with that deliciously sweet _something._ Fingers brush again, the familiar sparks bring heat to your face. Around him, you're becoming your own personal sun, full of heat and light and warmth. For the first time today, you begin to feel nervous, as some of your confidence slips. 

“If that’s OK with you, of course, only if you want to. I-”

“I want to. I’d love to see you again. On purpose,” he says with a soft chuckle.

“On purpose,” you laugh softly back.

“Dinner’s perfect. Are you free tonight?”

Your eyes sparkle with joy and surprise. “Tonight?”

Now it’s Frankie’s turn to look nervous. “If you’re not busy of course, I know it’s soon…”

“Tonight is perfect, Frankie. How does 6 sound? We can watch the sunset, start and end our day together.” Oh, your heart stutters at the sound of that. How utterly perfect. Today, tomorrow hopefully, and if you’re lucky-every other day in the future too.

His stare is intense and you don’t feel as nervous anymore. A man doesn’t look at you like that without a reason.

“I’d really like that. 6 it is.”

“6 it is.” He lingers just a moment longer, before waving goodbye and tugging Goose along. You watch his back until he disappears from view. Only when you know he’s gone do you let your smile burst out and a little excited shriek leave your lips. A date. With Francisco Morales. Tonight. Taking a deep breath in, you fill your heart with the sounds of the waves and the heat from the sun. On the exhale, you open and stare across the shimmering water, feeling so utterly at home. In such a long time, you never thought you’d feel this much love and hope again. And here, it feels like the pieces are starting to be gently stitched back together. It feels like you’re finally coming home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My lovely friend Tiffdawg surprised me with a mood board for this story! You can find that, along with my Pinterest board, Spotify playlist, and words of inspiration for this here: https://miss-me-jack.tumblr.com/post/636901446381666304/and-what-will-you-do-today-i-wonder-to-my-heart 
> 
> Come say hi on Tumblr! I hope you all had a lovely holiday full of health, happiness, and delicious treats. I hope to have an update soon! Thanks for reading!


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